


Unanswered Questions

by Remmy-KNB (Remembrance)



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Avoidant Attatchment, Awkward Romance, Difficulties, Fluff, Generalised Anxiety Disorder | GAD, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Modern, Slow Build, Suits, Supportive Relationship, non-binary characters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-08
Updated: 2016-02-28
Packaged: 2018-05-18 23:05:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5946715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Remembrance/pseuds/Remmy-KNB
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p> Akashi’s eyes are calm, but analytical all the same. “Panic, irrational fear, general uneasiness, shortness of breath, inability to stay calm… muscle tension, sleep disturbance, overall restlessness… You have an anxiety disorder.” Akashi watches as Kuroko says nothing to him, just raises his chin a little and nods once. Akashi frowns “But.” He examines Kuroko for a moment longer, trying to look for micro expressions as he was trained to do for the court of law. “You’ve never been anxious around me. And we are strangers.”</p><p> “No. I mean yes…” Kuroko closes his eyes. “You’re right: I’ve never been anxious around you… I’m comfortable around you.”</p><p> “Why?”</p><p> But Kuroko doesn’t say. He doesn’t want to leave Akashi hanging, but he leaves the question unanswered. For his own sake, and for Akashi’s sake, he <em>needs</em> to leave it unanswered.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic isn't in my usual writing style, which makes it both a lot of fun and really challenging. I do like the challenge, though. This'll probably be a bit different from my other stuff, and it's also my first KnB fic, so feel free to give critique or just tell me how I'm doing. Special thanks to Rosaveritas who beta'd this chapter for me – all remaining mistakes are my own. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this little thing. Thanks for giving it a chance.

 Akashi Seijuro’s story is so interesting that it’s boring, so unique that everyone has already heard it before, and so worth telling that he doesn’t bother. Everyone knows one or two of his kind—the geniuses—the ones too smart for their class, too excellent for their small lives. The ones too amazing for anyone to waste their time on. Because that is what Akashi Seijuro knows excellence to be: A waste of time.  
   
 That is not to say he is not asked.  
   
 People _always_ ask Akashi about himself; but, they never listen, really.  
   
 They fit him into their own mental box of what it is to be a genius. They relate it to someone they know. Whether that’s the nerd who got stuffed in lockers, or the snob who thought he was better than everyone else, or that one brilliant kid who also had a heart of gold. People stop listening early, so naturally Akashi stops sharing his story.  
   
 He hates it; he hates those judging eyes when he begins by telling them that he started his bachelor’s degree at tenth grade, getting permission to skip his afternoon classes to take advanced courses at a nearby university. He hates having to tell people that he is the president of his father’s company (“Had his success handed to him,” they’ll say to themselves), or that he finished a Doctorate in Business Administration (“Does anyone even need that?” they’ll ask themselves, to put his success down). He hates having to tell people his ‘company’ is actually a law firm, but he’s not a lawyer (though he does also have a law degree). He’ll tell people he’s made his job to be more of an administrator, an overseer, (“Bet he doesn’t even do anything,” they’ll say to their wounded egos).  
   
 He deals with lawyers, daily, as well as their clients. He deals with constantly updating technology and softwares, making sure everything is state of the art; he balances the budget and limits expansion to what they can manage.  
   
 The truth is it doesn’t matter what the service is.  
   
 Whether it’s law, massage, or fast food… everything is a business. Everything comes down to numbers, to paychecks. Everything comes down to greed; it all comes down to working with people, dealing with people. It all comes down to administrative work, of overseeing, and efficient delegation.  
   
 As well as trying to sniff out the one fucker who is in it just for themselves.  
   
 Akashi’s life is about meetings, people, and God (whether the damn thing exists or not, he doesn’t care) knows what else. As a child, he never studied, and yet he got the top grades in all his classes. As an adult, his life seems to function the same way. Very little goes wrong, and nothing that does go wrong can’t be recovered. So, in essence, nothing goes wrong.  
   
 Except an incompetent taxi driver, a closed bridge, and a broken umbrella.  
   
 With the rain thundering down in torrents, he does his best to stand under cover as he sends rather polite threats over the phone. He holds his phone in his right hand, fingers freezing to numbness. Himuro mostly just laughs at him (and Himuro is the only person in the world who can laugh at Akashi and walk away with all his limbs).  
   
 But what can he do?  
   
 The part of the city he is in is a small island, with only one bridge. If that bridge closes (which it has), then there is no way off the damn thing. Technically there are boats and probably seaplanes and whatnot, but Akashi muses nothing will sail or fly in this weather. Which means Akashi Seijuro is walking in a place he doesn’t know, alone. The rain is relentless, he’s cold, and everything seems to be closed.  
   
 Except, like a clichéd beacon of light, a coffee shop up ahead.  
   
 He doesn’t look at the name, just opens the door and steps in. It’s warm, smells of freshly baked bread and roasted coffee beans, and the music is soft – a woman’s voice, gentle strum of a guitar, singing about something or another. Akashi takes out his phone, opening the camera app. He uses the front camera to check himself. His hair is fine, his suit isn’t wet (thank fuck—this thing is worth more than a kidney and it needs to be dry cleaned, only). At a couple spots his red tie is now a deep, dark blood colour because of the rain, but he’s fine.  
   
 Even when things do go wrong, he can recover.  
   
 He puts his phone away.  
   
 He walks to the counter.  
   
 The place is cozy, with both tables with chairs and booths. It’s a small place, a kind of cute hole-in-the-wall local coffee shop. Akashi scans his surroundings once, eyes falling to a blond worker. He clears his throat.  
   
 The blond looks up. “Oh!” He smiles a smile that is so perfect it has to be photoshopped. “Sorry!”  
   
 Akashi eyes him up and down. Poor. “You’re not closed, are you?”  
   
 The blond’s smile turns to a grin. “We’re open twenty four hours, seven days a week!” Every word he says sounds like a song. It’s annoying.  
   
 “I see.” Akashi glances up to the menu.  
   
 The blond opens his mouth, but he’s interrupted.  
   
 “Kise,” comes another voice (softer; lighter). “The coffee.”  
   
 The blond—Kise—looks at him. “Huh?” His eyes move to the machine that roasts the beans. “But,” he says, but he doesn’t finish.  
   
 “I got it,” says the other worker.  
   
 Kise blinks, eyebrows coming together ever so slightly. “Hey but uh, you…? Are you sure?”  
   
 The other worker—he’s shorter, hair light blue—waves him off. His nametag (Akashi actually bothers to look) says _Kuroko_. Akashi had not seen him when he came in, but now he can’t seem to look away. Familiar. He’s seen this person before. He knows he has. He just can’t remember where. Kise leaves, and Kuroko goes up to the front. “What can I get for you?”  
   
 His voice is familiar.  
   
 Akashi looks back up to the menu. He doesn’t know what he wants. After a second he murmurs, “A… tea.”  
   
 “We have our blends here,” says Kuroko, motioning to the metal tins, labelled and colour coded.  
   
 Akashi scans them quickly. “Rooibos,” he decides. “A medium,” he adds.  
   
 “You can have a large,” Kuroko murmurs, “All sizes are the same price. It’s just more hot water. Which is free.”  
   
 “Oh…” Akashi coughs into his sleeve. “Yes. I’ll have a large, then.”  
   
 Kuroko nods and grabs a little bag. A tea filter, and opens the lid of the tin. He adds a spoon of the rooibos tea into the bag, then closes the lid. “For here or to go?”  
   
 “For here.”  
   
 Kuroko nods again. He adds it into a bowl-like cup and then begins to pour hot water. “It comes to two seventy-five.”  
   
 Akashi puts his briefcase down and pulls out his wallet. He frowns for a second. Shit. “You wouldn’t happen to take hundreds, would you?”  
   
 “No. We don’t.”  
   
 “I see.” He pulls out his card. “On debit, please.”  
   
 “Our debit machine is broken, sorry.” Kuroko puts the cup down and motions towards the sign that says no cards today, with an apology, and poorly drawn figures of the workers bowing.  
   
 Akashi frowns. “Credit too?”  
   
 “Yes.” Kuroko looks at him.  
   
 Akashi searches his wallet, then pats his pockets to find change. “Fuck,” he whispers. “I’m… sorry. I can’t—”  
   
 “Stay.” Kuroko’s eyes are soft on him. They’re kind of big, like a child’s, or a puppy’s, but they have some kind of other feature that Akashi can’t pin down. Kuroko pushes the cup forward. “On the house.”  
   
 Akashi looks at him, quickly trying to pick up cues of aggression or hostility or deception or greed—but he finds none.  
   
 “It’s a storm outside,” murmurs Kuroko as he looks outside, looking at the fierce raindrops battering the windows. The sound is oddly drowned out. Absent. He turns back to Akashi. “Steeping time is three to five minutes.”  
   
 Akashi asks, “Are you sure?” before he thinks.  
   
 Kuroko smiles. It’s a soft smile, and Akashi knows he’s seen it before somewhere. “Am I sure about the steeping time, or am I sure about the tea on the house?”  
   
 “I apologise.” Akashi’s jaw tightens. “The latter.”  
   
 “I’m sure.” Kuroko’s smile is small but bright enough to light up a room. “Steeping means you take the bag out of the hot water, after three to five minutes. Or it’ll be too strong.”  
   
 Akashi swallows hard. “Um… thank you. I’m sorry.”  
   
 Kuroko shakes his head. “Enjoy,” he says softly as he turns away; but, just before he turns away completely, he says, “Stay as long as you like.”  
   
 Akashi watches him walk away, to check on some coffee thing or something. Kise comes back, starting a conversation with Kuroko, but Akashi doesn’t pry. He picks up his briefcase with his left hand. The large cup of tea is on a small plate, so he takes the plate and cup with his right hand and sits at a table near the wall. Along said wall is a long couch-like bench, with a table, and then a metal chair on the other side. It looks the most comfortable, so he sits on the bench. He puts the tea down and looks at it.  
   
 The rooibos, or honeybush as it’s sometimes called, is surrounded by a mist of deep red. He pulls the tea bag out and the mist-like water begins to blur and mix with the transparent hot water. He puts the tea bag back in and watches the colours fuse for a second.  
   
 He takes his briefcase out.  
   
 He begins working on some files, since he has nothing better to do. This morning he had been given several forms that requested changes here and there. Some of these seem like good ideas, some are awful, and some he wants a second opinion on. He doesn’t know how long he works (just that he finishes his tea and Himuro has called three times), but eventually someone comes up to his table.  
   
 “More hot water?” asks Kuroko, holding a kettle.  
   
 Akashi looks up, eyeing him. “Yes,” he says smoothly.  
   
 Kuroko pours another cup, Akashi says thank you, and Kuroko nods before he walks away.  
   
 “Kurokocchi,” says Kise. “You talked to that guy?”  
   
 Akashi doesn’t look up, but he listens.  
   
 Kuroko’s voice is passive (a feigned disinterest, Akashi can tell), “Yes.”  
   
 “Wow. You almost never talk to customers. He’s kinda freaky. His eyes are two colours! Did you see that? Did you see that, Kurokocchi?”  
   
 “I did.”  
   
 The conversation ends there.  
   
 Akashi’s pen is poised over a form; he had been slashing things off, but now he stops. That’s another thing about his life he hates. His eyes. Two colours. Red and orange. Red, matching his hair, and orange, the defect. Creepy, people say. Freaky, the kids had said. It seems anyone and everyone thinks that of him.  
   
 “You don’t think it’s weird?” Kise persists. Apparently the conversation’s not over.  
   
 Akashi silently wonders if Kise is one of those people where the conversation is never over.  
   
 “No.” Kuroko’s voice is hard to hear over running water. “He’s nice.”  
   
 Nice.  
   
 Akashi rubs his jaw, then finishes his tea. He wants Kuroko to come back. He wants Kuroko to ask him if he wants another cup—hot water is free, isn’t it? Kuroko will offer a third cup, won’t he? Akashi frowns. Kuroko is a second rate coffee shop worker at a second rate coffee shop. Why would Akashi—someone rich and powerful—suddenly want the attention of Kuroko? Odd. Because he called him nice? Sickening. Akashi frowns.  
   
  _Someone like me,_ he thinks to himself, _should never want someone like you._  
   
 But when Kuroko does come to his table again, Akashi looks up. Akashi’s face, stoic and collected, betrays the little thrill he feels. He looks Kuroko over once more.  
   
  _I know him,_ he thinks. _I’ve seen him before, somewhere._  
   
 Kuroko doesn’t ask, _“More hot water?”_ like Akashi expects. He puts something down, a croissant (almond and chocolate, decorated with pistachios), then fills Akashi’s cup without asking.  
   
 Akashi frowns. “Excuse me,” he says.  
   
 “It’s okay,” replies Kuroko. “Even if they’re still good, we can’t sell baked goods that aren’t made on the same day.” He smiles, softly. “It’s almost midnight, and we’re not going to get any more customers in this storm.”  
   
 Akashi’s frown lightens. “I don’t know if I can accept this.”  
   
 “It’s either you, or I take it to my roommates.” Kuroko notices Kise walking by so he gives him the kettle. Kise looks confused, but takes it and goes off to check something else. Kuroko sits in the seat opposite of Akashi. “My roommates eat enough croissants, I think.”  
   
 Akashi swallows hard. “I haven’t paid for anything, and you’re giving me more.”  
   
 “You don’t look like money is an issue.” Kuroko eyes him up and down once (it makes Akashi straighten his spine). “So… I think… it’s just an unfortunate event that our credit card machine broke this morning.”  
   
 “Still, I…”  
   
 “Then come back,” says Kuroko, with a small smile. It’s tiny. _You would need a microscope to see it,_ Akashi thinks. But then why is it so bright? Why does it steal all his attention? If Kuroko notices Akashi’s fixation, he doesn’t say. “If it really bothers you,” Kuroko goes on seamlessly, “You can come back another day. Buy another tea.”  
   
 “I see.” Akashi’s eyes flick up to Kuroko’s. If this had happened anywhere else Akashi’s only thought would have been that this was a business plan to get returning customers. But Kuroko seems oddly sincere. “Thank you.”  
   
 Kuroko looks at him then down to his cup, then back up again. “Why tea?”  
   
 “Sorry…?”  
   
 “You’re a coffee person. Aren’t you?”  
   
 Akashi’s eyes darken. “How do you know that?”  
   
 “No need to get defensive.” Kuroko dips his head, an apology. “I just… guessed. You get good at that… working at a coffee shop. You don’t seem to… know much about teas. And suits always drink coffee, don’t they?”  
   
 “I see.” Akashi feels both comfortable and uncomfortable. “Yes… I prefer coffee. I have been informed that I may be drinking too much coffee, though. Rooibos is not caffeinated, right?”  
   
 Kuroko nods, slowly. “So why are you here, if you don’t mind me asking?”  
   
 “The bridges are closed. I had some business here earlier, a client was having difficulties with one of my employees. Some of the… complaints, were rather concerning, especially for a high ranking employee, so I decided to check it out myself.”  
   
 Kuroko raises and eyebrow, but doesn’t ask any more questions. He just nods.  
   
 Akashi can hear something, a pounding, a drum. His heartbeat, he realises. He also realises he’s never heard it beat loud from anything other than exercise before. Every door in his life opened for him, without fail, and now he is face to face with something that is by no means a door, and isn’t necessarily open or closed.  
   
 “I’m not bothering you am I?”  
   
 Akashi raises an eyebrow, keeping the collected face as it is. He blinks. “No. You’re not.”  
   
 “I see.” Kuroko tilts his head. “Are you happy?”  
   
 Akashi opens his mouth to say yes, but stops. He stares at Kuroko, for a full moment, and then closes his mouth. He wants to ask ‘What?’, he wants to ask who Kuroko thinks he is to ask such a question, but he doesn’t. Instead his fingers find their way around his cup of tea, enjoying the subtle warmth through porcelain. “I don’t know,” he says, finally.  
   
 Kuroko nods and then gets up.  
   
 “Wait,” he says. “Kuroko,” he says. And he realises it’s the first time he’s said that name out loud (today, at least; have they met somewhere before?). He likes that name. He likes saying that name. Saying it feels like breaking, in a way. A good way.  
   
 Kuroko pauses, looking at him. Expectantly.  
   
 Akashi frowns, more at himself than at Kuroko. He doesn’t know what to say. “Seijuro,” he says. “My name is Seijuro.”  
   
 Kuroko blinks. He says it carefully: “Seijuro.” He says it with reverence, like he knows without a doubt it isn’t Akashi’s last name, that he’s been given a first name. He says it like he respects it, not for money or power, but for humanity. Like he’s holding something fragile. _Seijuro,_ he had said, like he understood. He nods, respectfully, then steps away.  
   
 Akashi doesn’t know why he said Seijuro. No. He does know why. He knows exactly why. Akashi, Akashi. It’s a name people say back and forth, ‘Akashi’, his name, which is in his company’s name as well. Impersonal, distant, cold, business, administrative—he wants none of that with Kuroko. _Kuroko._  
   
 There is a question lingering on Akashi’s tongue, but Kuroko’s already moved behind the counter, putting some baked goods in a brown paper bag. But even if Kuroko was still at his table, would Akashi have the courage to ask: _Have we met before?_ He knows they have. They must have. _Kuroko,_ he imagines himself saying (but knows he couldn’t if he tried), _have we met before, somewhere?_


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to update this earlier, but y'know life. This chapter is beta'd by Lozzy. Special thanks to her—any remaining mistakes are my own. Feel free to point them out. I hope you enjoy this, though!
> 
> * * *

 Akashi stays until two or three in the morning, until the bridge opens and the taxis are moving people along. When he leaves the coffee shop, there’s a lightness in his step. He won’t return. He tells himself he won’t return, not yet anyway. Hours pass, and soon days—followed by a week coming and going. He’s left the coffee shop, but it doesn’t entirely feel that way. He thinks back to it a lot, to the sights and sounds, to the smells and the ambience, to the people and nostalgia. He thinks about them (him, rather) too often, too much.  
   
 His thoughts are invasive, haunting him. But gently. Nicely. It’s like a best friend who comes again and again into his home, inviting himself over on the days where he has mornings off, coming in with donuts and coffee – breakfast. Or at least that’s how it would happen in the movies. Akashi Seijuro has had no shortage of friends in his life, but the number of people he is truly close to verges near none.  
   
 Maybe zero-point-five, on a good day.  
   
 Akashi wakes up, and his first thought is that it’s been nine days since he’s seen Kuroko.  
   
 He gets up, showers, and slips on a bathrobe. He moves through life in his rigid but comfortable routine. Routine is like meditation, calming him. Preparing him. It’s like an athlete’s warm up: It helps with his day, and if he skips it – he can get unnecessarily injured.  
   
 He wonders what he would do if some best friend figure did invite himself over, with coffee and donuts.  
   
 Akashi would kill him.  
   
 Yes, he nods. He could claim self-defence (the person would have invaded his home, after all; Akashi isn’t the head of a law firm for nothing—he knows how to play the laws to his advantage).  
   
 His home is neat and organised. His father dislikes it. It’s too small by his father’s standards: someone with as much money as him should show the world his capital. They disagree on that point. His mother, on the other hand, loves Akashi’s home. It’s still large (a mansion on the west side), but it’s homey, comfortable. Akashi prefers it this way. If he wanted to live in a bigger house he’d have to live further away from the city (where the lots of land were bigger), and then the commute would be terrible.  
   
 He drives to work in silence.  
   
 He almost forgets to turn right because he thinks of the way Kuroko said his name.  
   
  _“Seijuro.”_  
   
 His breath hitches in his throat.  
   
 He avoids the coffee shop. That is power. It is a victory. He thinks of it as winning against his impulses. He is winning against his silly desires and foolishness. It is an empty one, but a victory nonetheless. He has already come to the realisation—he has a crush on Kuroko. He can’t, however, figure out why. Kuroko isn’t strikingly attractive, isn’t particularly wealthy, doesn’t have charm, isn’t ‘smooth’. Yet, the pull he feels to this fucking _barista_ of all things (he can only imagine his father laughing at that)…  
   
 Although he understands his reaction, he cannot find the cause. Akashi thinks back to one of his college professors teaching an elective: _“Ask a normal person why they did something and they will give you an explanation or a reason. Ask a psychologist why someone did something and they will give you a cause.”_ Humans are much like the reactions of natural world, cause and effect. Akashi knows this. The whole game of the courtroom is based on this idea. That’s not to say things are determined. That’s not to say individual differences or different reactions can’t be accounted for, but people can be (to some extent) predicted.  
   
 To some extent.  
   
 There is always that animal element: The unpredictable facet of human existence.  
   
 Akashi parks his car and goes to work, meeting with morons and geniuses alike. The profit of his company is high, and he needs to keep it high: He wants to implement new programs and expand the number of lawyers who work for him. He needs profit. Akashi meets with a man who’s been put in charge of finding ways to lower their expenses. His best idea is to stop giving paychecks to interns. Akashi tells him he’d rather take away _his_ paycheck.  
   
 Another member of the board, Momoi Satsuki – Akashi’s biggest fucking headache – points out that paying interns is what makes sure universities offer them only the cream of the crop for co-op programs and recommendations.  
   
 Himuro laughs far too loud for anyone’s liking, but no one can blame him. He laughs because (as he puts it) when Akashi and Momoi actually agree, _“Now you know you fucked up.”_  
   
 Akashi finishes his day early and wonders what to do, where to go.  
   
 He avoids the coffee shop. That is power. It is a victory. He thinks of it as winning against his impulses. He is winning against his silly desires and foolishness. It is an empty one, but a victory nonetheless.   
   
 But it really is haunting.  
   
 He thinks of Kuroko when he passes a different coffee shop, when he sees two people walking together, when he sees a couple kissing by the fountain. He thinks of him whenever he breathes.  
   
 Another day passes.  
   
 And another.  
   
 It’s been two weeks—or sixteen days, fifteen hours, and forty-two minutes—and Akashi returns.  
   
 The smell of freshly baked bread and roasted coffee beans, the warmth, soft music welcome him. Akashi looks around, taking in more details this time. There’s a section of savory baked goods like bread and cheese croissants lined up at eye level next to the cashier, and below it is a display glass of sandwiches and salads. To the side are the sweeter pastries, cupcakes and muffins and cookies – all flavoured with chocolate chips or berries or pastry cream; after that, there is a section for cakes to buy either whole or by the slice.  
   
 Akashi glances to the counter.  
   
 There is Kise, with his photoshopped smile, talking to another customer.  
   
 Akashi looks around, trying to find that tuft of light blue hair. He doesn’t see him and vaguely wonders if that’s Kuroko’s real hair colour. He assumes by his memory of Kuroko’s eyebrows that it is. He finds it amusing – because people have asked him the same thing about his own hair colour. He doesn’t see Kuroko.  
   
 He considers leaving.  
   
 “Welcome back.”  
   
 Akashi glances over his shoulder.  
   
 Kuroko is leaning over a table, wiping it down with a rag. His eyes are soft and wide, like a child, like a puppy, just as Akashi remembers. It’s slow and small, but Kuroko’s lips form a smile. It feels like the room lights up. He dips his head, politely. “You didn’t jump.”  
   
 Akashi turns to face him properly. “Jump?”  
   
 “People don’t notice me right away… so I scare them sometimes.”  
   
 “I… see.” Akashi successfully silences the urge to smile. “No. I didn’t.”  
   
 Kuroko’s smile doesn’t leave his face. Although Akashi firmly expects a ‘why?’ or ‘where were you?’, Kuroko simply says: “I’m glad you came back, Seijuro.”  
   
 Akashi swallows hard.  
   
 Kuroko dips his head again, and leaves.  
   
 Akashi feels something warm and burning in the pit of his stomach. It’s strange. Akashi doesn’t blush, ever. Kuroko isn’t enough to change that, but he feels his ears oddly heated. He wonders if they’re pink. Odd. He’s seen the ears of other people go pink, but he had never felt it himself. He supposes even he is human, though.  
   
 Eventually he goes to the counter.  
   
 “Hi!” Kise yells. He throws his hands up excitedly. “You’re here again!”  
   
 Akashi simply says, “Yes.”  
   
 “Kurokocchi! Look!”  
   
 Kuroko appears next to Kise and lightly puts a hand on his shoulder, as if pushing him away but with no force. “I know,” he murmurs. “The bread will be out soon. Take care of it.”  
   
 “Huh but uh oh okay?”  
   
 “Ignore him.” Kuroko looks at Akashi. “What are you looking for. A tea?”  
   
 “Yes.” Akashi glances to the blends. “My assistant got me a peppermint tea… I disliked it. He’s the type to apologise profusely if he does something wrong, so…” He bites his lip, not knowing why he is talking about Sakurai now. He focuses on Kuroko. “What… would you recommend?”  
   
 Kuroko shifts slightly, towards the tea blends. He grabs one tea and pushes it forward. “You probably won’t like herbal things if you’re used to coffee.” He opens the top. “This a decaf version of one of our black teas, blended with roses and almonds. You can smell it if you like.”  
   
 The overtone of the tea is bitter and earthy, a touch smoky, like coffee beans, but crisper – like autumn leaves. There are shades of roses mixed into the smell, with an undercurrent of nutty from the almonds.   
   
 Kise comes over, head popping up above Kuroko’s shoulder as he puts his weight on his shorter friend. “We also have pastries and sweets like our white chocolate strawberry cake and—”  
   
 “Kise.”  
   
 “Oops, sorry Kurokocchi!”  
   
 Kuroko shakes him off and waits until he leaves before looking back at Akashi. “You don’t seem like the type of person who likes sweet things.”  
   
 “Not particularly, no.”  
   
 Kuroko begins preparing Akashi’s tea. “I’d recommend one of our richer cakes, then… Dark chocolate cake with raspberry jam, cherries, and spiced rum – it gives it a small kick.”  
   
 Akashi steps back to glance at the cake at the far end. The sponge of the cake looks rich and mouthwatering, with layers of pink-red in between. There are cherries all over the top, making it a sinful mixture of dark brown and red. “I’ll take a slice of that, then.”  
   
 Kuroko nods. He types it into the register. “Your total.” He motions to the number displayed. “Our machine works today.”  
   
 “On debit, then.”  
   
 Kuroko nods again.  
   
 Soon enough, Akashi puts in his card, hits confirm, enters his PIN, and waits a second until it's approved. He remembers he could have used his tap, technically, but it’s too late now. He removes his card.  
   
 “Do you want your receipt?”  
   
 “No thank you.”  
   
 Kuroko tears the receipt off of the machine, but pauses. He glances to the total, then to Akashi. He laughs – actually laughs; it’s light and quick, barely audible, but a laugh nonetheless. “You really are a business man.”  
   
 “Excuse me?”  
   
 “You tipped,” murmurs Kuroko, “Exactly enough to pay for your tea last time.”  
   
 “Last time was on the house, which I assume came out of your paycheck.”  
   
 “You know,” says Kuroko ever so softly. He puts the receipt with the others and busies his hands with making the tea, eyes down. “Sometimes people prefer when gifts aren’t paid back. If you weren’t a suit, I’d be offended that Seijuro didn’t like my gift.”  
   
 Akashi’s heart rises and falls at the same time. The way Kuroko said his name, so casually, but with warmth of a good friend—“I… apologise.” He frowns. “I… admit I probably only know how to throw money at my problems.”  
   
 Kuroko looks up. “I’m a problem?”  
   
 Akashi’s eyes widen; he opens his mouth to speak. But. He stops. He sees the tiniest hint of a smile, the smallest upward curve, at the corners of his lips. “Are you teasing me, Kuroko?”  
   
 Kuroko casually looks away. “Yes.”  
   
 “I see.” Akashi doesn’t know what to say. He’s warm.  
   
 “You’re quite honest with me.”  
   
 “I have no need to hide from you, I don’t believe.”  
   
 Kuroko smiles and offers the cup of tea, steam rising from the dark liquid.  
   
 Akashi ponders saying thank you, but chooses not to. He feels as though silence is Kuroko’s element, and he doesn’t dare disturb it. He’d rather take the moment to simply look at Kuroko, his face, his posture, his tiniest smile, take it all in, than to speak and cause a ripple in the otherwise perfect still water.  
   
 Akashi sits with is tea, a wide cup on a saucer. Kise comes by, giving him a tray that has (what he assumes is) cream and sugar, and another plate with the cake. Akashi asks for milk instead of cream, but Kise says it is – skim milk, to be exact. Apparently Kuroko knew he would ask for that if offered cream. Akashi raises his eyebrow at that, but says nothing. Kise, of course, keeps talking:  
   
 “Kurokocchi recommends a bit of milk with that blend, gives it more body. Y’know? Oh! You know Kurokocchi made this cake all by himself, too? He burns all the coffee so I have to do all that, but he makes most of the baked stuff. He’s so good at it!”  
   
 “I see.” Akashi eyes him. “Thank you.”  
   
 “Also the tea is probably done steeping!”  
   
 The combination is heavenly, divine. In all he’s tasting tea and cherries, raspberries and almonds, roses and dark chocolate. He considers telling someone about this place, but he doesn’t know who. His first thought is Himuro, but he probably wouldn’t like small hole in the wall places like it. Momoi would, but Momoi is a bitch and Akashi will do everything in his power to stop her from having a single form of happiness. He thinks about others, but his mind returns to his mother.  
   
 He hasn’t talked to her in a while.  
   
 He thinks back to how she would make herself hot cup of tea, touch of lemon and honey, after a long day. Every time Akashi was around she would turn to him. Her look was her question, too gentle for words. Akashi would either nod or shake his head, but he usually nodded. He realises – even though it’s been nine years since he moved out – he doesn’t know the name of her blend.   
   
 He decides he will ask the next time he sees her.  
   
 He takes another sip of his tea, this time with milk. Kuroko is correct: It’s better with a bit of milk. The milk mellows some of the more earthy notes, bringing the lighter ones up. Its thickness gives it body, making it more than just leaf water. He doesn’t touch the sugar, though. He finishes the last of his cake, rich and sinful, and wipes his mouth with a napkin.  
   
 Akashi pretends to focus on his cup, but he scouts the rest of the coffee shop.  
   
 Kuroko is distracted with work. But he does things, every once in a while, that stand out. He rubs the thumb of one hand against the opposing hand, at the space between the thumb and index finger. He fiddles with the strings of his apron, undoing them and doing them again and again. Kise comes by, asking if he’s okay. Kuroko nods in a distant way each time, as if he doesn’t hear the question.  
   
 Kise attempts conversation a lot, Akashi finds out.  
   
 “Kurokocchi, you were totally flirting with him, weren’t you?”  
   
 Kuroko shuts him down a lot, Akashi finds out.  
   
 “Kise, there’s a customer.”  
   
 Kise whips his head back and then forward again. “That’s not a customer: That’s Midocchi!”  
   
 “He has money, so he’s a customer.” Kuroko pauses and stares right at Kise. “Unless you don’t want your paycheck.”  
   
 Kise sputters then yells, “I have seniority over you! A whole year!”  
   
 Kuroko moves away, a smile on his lips.  
   
 Akashi wishes his eyes were photographic: He wishes he could save that smile, forever in his mind. He looks away, though, not wanting Kuroko to find him staring.  
   
 Eventually Kuroko comes by, adding more hot water to his empty cup.  
   
  _I know him._ Akashi looks up at him, examining the curves of his face, the softness of his cheekbones, gentleness of his jaw, lightness of his eyelashes. _I know this person. But from where?_  
   
 After Kuroko puts the kettle down, he takes the seat across Akashi, just like last time. He rests his chin on his hand, crosses his legs.  
   
  _He’s watching me,_ Akashi realises, but he’s fine with that, because then he gets to watch Kuroko in return. Akashi confirms his thought from days ago: Kuroko isn’t beautiful, or not notable in any significant way, but he is somewhat attractive. He doesn’t have a flare, or a spark, or any kind of fire that explains why his image and person has been burned into Akashi’s mind. Akashi wonders if it’s because he’s so plain, so missable, so boring—but he’s not. No. His hair is light blue, his eyes are almost too gentle to ever forget, and his smile reminds Akashi that humans are made of stardust.  
   
 Kuroko finally speaks: “Hello.”  
   
 “Hello,” Akashi returns. He takes his cup, sips the tea. Only when the cup hits his lip does he realise he’s smiling, and now it is too late to shut the smile down. So, in one of the rare moments of his life, he lets himself smile. “Kuroko. I have to ask you something.”  
   
 Kuroko tilts his head, ever so softly.  
   
 Akashi realises heartbeat is a touch too quick, his body feels a touch too warm, his muscles are a touch too tense; and, yet, his whole body feels a touch too comfortable. “Do we know each other?”  
   
 There.  
   
 He did it.  
   
 Kuroko blinks at the question, but it’s wrong.  
   
 Akashi has been trained in micro expressions. He knows that the reason why people have trouble controlling their face is because of neural wiring. The muscles in the face are controlled by two separate parts of the brain, motion in the motor cortex and emotion in the limbic system. Micro expressions form when these two parts give mismatched messages.  
   
 When Kuroko blinks to the question there is confusion in his expression, but it’s a mask. There are flashes, less than a tenth of a second, in Kuroko’s eyebrows that seem to be hiding things. Kuroko simply says, “We’re strangers, Seijuro.”  
   
 Akashi’s jaw tightens, lips pursed.   
   
 Kuroko smiles, softly. “I would… like to get to know you, though.”  
   
 “And I, you.”  
   
 Kuroko’s eyebrows go up, genuine surprise.  
   
 Even Akashi is surprised by his words, but they’re not wrong.   
   
 Kuroko gets up, leaving Akashi alone.  
   
 They are strangers. He got an answer. It is a victory. It is the truth, but Akashi catches details: Kuroko didn’t answer yes or no. They were strangers. Whatever that means is whatever they are. An empty one, but a victory nonetheless. A victory nonetheless.


End file.
